


Eggnog and Airplane!

by bry0psida



Series: Harringrove Advent [18]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21852832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bry0psida/pseuds/bry0psida
Summary: Billy and Steve make eggnog, get drunk on said eggnog, and watch Airplane!.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove
Series: Harringrove Advent [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558885
Comments: 7
Kudos: 67





	Eggnog and Airplane!

**Author's Note:**

> I actually got drunk to try and write authentic drunk dialogue. I'm pretty trashed writing this honestly, thank god for spell check.

Steve’s driveway is empty when Billy pulls up. No big deal, not the first time Billy’s let himself in before. Steve had a key cut for him a while ago after Billy lost the spare.

He lets himself in, tries to decide where to wait for Steve. He could go upstairs, lay himself out on Steve’s bed, get a real show going. Billy’s tried that before and been left waiting over an hour though, so maybe not.

He settles for listening to the radio and gets going on his homework. He’s about two `thirds of the way done when he hears Steve pull up. Billy thinks about hiding behind the door and scaring him for a moment, decides he can’t be assed.

Billy hears the door open, followed by the rustling of bags and the chime of keys knocking against each other before the door shuts again.

“Billy?” Steve calls.

“In the kitchen,” Billy replies.

Steve walks into the kitchen, dumps his bags on the counter. Billy looks up from mind numbing calculus, arches his chin and purses his lips a little for a kiss. Steve gives him a few fond pecks before bustling some more around the kitchen, putting away dry dishes and laying out what’s in the shopping bags.

“You staying the night?” Steve asks.

“I’d like to,”

“Me too,”

“I’ll stay, then. What’d you get?”

“Dinner, ingredients.” Steve folds up the bags, stuff them in a drawer.

“Ingredients for dinner?”

“Ingredients for egg nog,”

“Really?”

“Uh huh,”

Billy arches a brow. “You actually drink that shit?”

“What? It’s nice.”

“It’s disgusting,”

“Store bought shit is. You had it homemade?”

“…No.”

“You at least gonna try it?”

Billy shrugs. “Sure, why not. I’ll help you make it when I’m done with this.”

Billy finishes his calculus work. Steve tidies the kitchen, measures out the ingredients, lines dinner up to go in the oven in an hour or two. It’s nothing special. Pizza, can of peas, some fries, a bag of fresh butter cookies from the new bakery in town.

Billy washes his hands, rolls up his sleeves. “Where do I start?”

“I want you to crack 6 eggs into a bowl, separate the yolks. Toss the whites, whisk the yolks up real good, _don’t_ get any shell in.”

“Steve, I eat eggs like every other day, I’m not gonna get shell in it.” He gets shell in it, scoops it all out before Steve notices. Tosses the whites and whisks the yolks.

“What next?”

“Whisk the sugar in.” Billy whisks the sugar in, pads over to Steve when he’s done, wraps his arms around his waist and rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“That smells fucking great. What is it?”

“Milk, vanilla, nutmeg, cinnamon.”

“I’d drink that as is,”

“People do make non-alcoholic egg nog,”

“We should do that next time,”

Steve turns is head, gives Billy a quick kiss on the cheek. “Get back to your station, got sweet milk coming in hot. Ish.”

Billy moves back to the bowl, slides it along the counter a little so Steve can get at it. “So get whisking again, not too fast. You’re tempering the eggs.” Steve says.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Means you put in a little bit of the hot shit at a time so you don’t cook or curdle the eggs. Put a hand on the bowl so you feel it heating up, tell me when you feel it.”

Steve puts the pan on a wooden chopping board, fetches one of his little silver measuring cups he loves so much. Steve’s actually like, really good at cooking. ‘ _Had to learn to cook for myself, parents were never here to do it for me,_ ’ He’d told Billy. Steve starts pouring in the milk at a glacial pace.

“I feel it,”

“Ok, lemme get more. Don’t stop whisking.”

They do that for a little while, take their time. They don’t talk much during. It’s nice, Billy lets himself pretend that this is what his life’s gonna be like when they finish high school, just for a few quiet minutes.

“What now?” Billy asks.

“Now it’s all going back in the pan,” Steve says. Billy watches him pour it in. “There’s a thermometer kicking around in one of the draws, can you find it for me?”

Billy does as he’s asked, finds it pretty quickly, leaves it where Steve can reach. “Anything else you need me to do?”

“You can pick the booze,”

Billy opens the liquor cabinet. “What, anything?”

“Bourbon, brandy or rum.”

“I’ve not tried rum,”

“It’s sweeter than the other two, you can try it now if you want.”

Billy screws off the cap, pours two shot glasses. It’s sweet like Steve said, burns the back of his throat good, too. “This’ll do.”

Steve knocks back his own shot, checks the temperature of the eggnog, kills the burner. Reaches for the little prepared bowl of double cream and dumps it in. Billy passes him the rum, watches him measure out 80ml before pouring it in, stirs. Billy takes another shot of rum.

“We’re pretty much done,” Steve says. He transfers the eggnog from a pan to a couple tall glasses. “Just gotta let them cool on the counter a little, then they can go in the fridge. Can drink ‘em whenever.”

“Should we start dinner?”

“Might as well,”

Billy gets the pizza and fries in the oven, Steve gets the can of peas into a bowl of water, sticks it in the microwave ahead of time. “Oh, I got us a movie from Video Kingdom.”

“What’d you get?”

“Airplane,”

“Haven’t seen that one,”

“You’re _kidding_ ,”

“Should I have seen it?”

“Billy, it’s fucking hysterical.”

“I don’t really like comedies,”

“You’ll like this once you’ve got enough eggnog in you. Trust me.” Billy doesn’t think so, but doesn’t matter. Watching bad movies with Steve is infinitely better than anything he could be doing alone to pass the time.

They kick it in the tv room for a bit while they wait for dinner. Billy switches on some MTV, Steve wanders back to the kitchen after five minutes to put the eggnog in the fridge. Leaves again when the timer in the kitchen goes off.

Billy gets the movie ready, clears his crap off the coffee table, gets pillows in place so they can put their feet up while they eat on the couch. Steve brings the drinks in first, he’s covered the tops in canned whip cream, even bought straws. It’s damn cute, is what it is. Steve smiles at him a little shyly as he puts the drinks on coasters like he can hear Billy’s thoughts. Leaves and comes back again with water, then trays with their food. Billy starts the movie, hears a familiar soundtrack.

“Steve,”

“Mmm?” Steve hums round a mouthful of food.

“This is Jaws. This music is from Jaws.”

Steve swallows, clears his throat. “It’s not Jaws.”

“I _know_ the song-“ A plane emerges from the clouds, leaves the title AIRPLANE! In it’s wake.

“Told you it’s not Jaws,”

“Shut up. Eat your dinner.”

Billy inhales his, Steve takes his time. Movie’s about five minutes in when he finishes, isn’t grabbing him yet. Steve’s choked on his peas more than once already. Billy picks up his tray. “Gonna get the rum. You want a glass?”

“The eggnog not gonna do it for you?”

“There’s less than one shot in there,”

“How’d you figure that out?”

“You used about 80 millilitres of rum and split that between four glasses. There’s something like 40 in a shot, so there’s 20 in my glass. I wanna get trashed.”

“Are you only good at math when it comes to measuring alcohol?”

“I wouldn’t call diving 80 by 4 in under a minute being good at math, Steve. Glass or not?”

“Nah,”

Billy rinses his plate and utensils, sticks them in the dishwasher, grabs the rum, takes a big swig on his way back in.

“So, is this movie a romcom?”

“It’s got romcom elements but it’s actually a spoof,”

Billy flops back onto the couch.“Of romcoms?”

“Of disaster movies,”

“Christ,”

“Just give it a chance,”

“I’m watching it, aren’t I?”

Billy grabs his eggnog, takes a long pull on the straw. “Damn, this is good. Where’d you learn to make this?”

“My mom,” Steve says around a mouth full of fries.

“Your _mom_ taught you to make eggnog?”

“When I was 9. She hadn’t even shown me how to use the toaster or the kettle, had to figure those out myself. But she showed me how to make eggnog for Christmas so she wouldn’t have to.”

“Yikes,”

“Yeah,” Steve grabs his glass, knocks it against Billy’s, gets a little cream on his knuckles. “To shitty parents.”

Billy grabs the bottle of rum, says, “To shitty parents.” and drinks deep. He’s feeling a little loose, shots he took in the kitchen have definitely kicked in by now, shouldn’t be long before he’s actually tipsy.

The movie plays. It’s fucking awful. Steve’s loving it, though. Billy gets the jokes, the jokes just aren’t getting him. He tries not to make fun of it, he really does. Can’t help himself, sputters into the whipped cream on his eggnog, gets it on the table. “His name is Ted Striker?”

“It _is_ a spoof, it’s supposed to be cliche.”

“Ted fucking _Striker_?”

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re laughing at, we’re like ten minutes in.” Billy’s not sure why it’s tickling him, either. Maybe he’s already tipsy. He shoves the bottle into Steve’s hand.

“You need to catch up, maybe the booze will help you see how fucking terrible this movie is.”

“You said you’d give it a chance!”

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t complain,” Steve rolls his eyes, takes a couple long sips, dumps the bottle back on the table and starts eating the whip cream off his eggnog.

Billy whips his cigarettes out of his bag when Ted Striker puts away his smoking ticket.

“Hey, you shouldn’t smoke in here.”

Billy pauses with the lighter halfway to his cigarette. “When are your parents coming back again?”

“Next week,”

“It won’t smell by then. Just leave the patio door open a crack when you go to school.”

Steve grumbles. “Fine. Gimme one.” Billy does, lights it, then his own.

…

“Am I drunk,” Billy slurs, points the bottle of rum at the tv. “or is Ted kind of hot?”

Steve giggles, slides a little deeper into the couch. “You’re drunk, you’re s-so drunk.”

“You wouldn’t screw him?”

“Nooooooo, he’s hot. He’s _hot_. But you’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk,”

“Yeah,” Steve says. They descend into giggles, start slapping each other for no apparent reason beyond just because. Billy’s into the movie now he’s shitfaced. Steve was right, what a surprise.

“D’you think,” Billy starts. “d’you think the inflatable co-pilot is also a sex doll?”

Steve hums. “Dunno. I wouldn’t fuck it.”

Billy nods at the screen. “Looks like Elaine would.”

Steve starts creasing like a piece of paper. Billy doesn’t know what he’s laughing at but laughs with him anyway.

Steve wipes a tear from his eye. “W-would. Like, _wood_.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

Steve leans across the space between them, partly collapses on Billy, whispers in his ear, all hot breath. “I have no idea.”

…

Steve sputters water all over the coffee table like he’s doing a spit-take. “Why is there a horse in the bed?!”

Billy’s head lolls lazily. “It’s a Godfather reference.”

“It’s been a minute since I saw that, but I’m pretty sure no one fucks a horse.”

“No one fucks a horse, dummy. What’shisface wakes up with his racehorse’s head next to him on the bed.”

Steve just looks at him, eyes glassy, swaying a little. “Don't geddit.”

“It’s uh, they turned the joke on it’s head, this is a universe where the horse is alive and in the bed because sex.”

Steve blinks at him. “Still don’t geddit,”

…

They finish the movie. It’s every bit as terrible as Billy expected it would be, but the rum is good and the jokes were funny and Steve’s curled up in Billy’s lap snoring softly as the credits roll.

**Author's Note:**

> I might've rushed this one a little bit, I'm behind schedule.
> 
> Let me know if y'all liked it! As always, thank you for reading!


End file.
